


Not Afraid of Anything

by celestialskiff



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskiff/pseuds/celestialskiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From <a href="http://eleventy-kink.livejournal.com/942.html?thread=2010542#t2010542">this wonderful prompt</a> on the kink meme. Amy is traumatised by her experiences with the weeping angels and regresses to cope. The Doctor and River look after her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taking Time

**Author's Note:**

> Kinks: Age play, diapering, regression.

She was afraid and then there was a soft, soothing hum in the background. _Where was she?_ Amelia didn't know. She remembered a blue box, and a lot of waiting. She remembered her aunt's face when she woke up in the morning, with black streaks of eye make-up running down her cheeks. Amelia rolled over. The sheets were wet. _Oh_. She rolled on them, into the wetness. It was not yet quite cold, but she knew it would be. She reached for her teddy-bear, but he wasn't there. _Bramble. Bed-covers. Blue box._ The words, the B sounds rolled around her head, and she sat up. The sheets were wet, and the hum in the background seemed to be getting louder. She wanted to cry, but Amelia Pond wasn't supposed to cry. She got up instead, feeling her cold nightie settle around her.

*

River drank the second glass of sweet port. The Doctor wouldn't touch it, though River couldn't understand why he had two bottles of the finest 1889 stashed away if he really didn't drink. She was never, ever scared when it wasn't practical, when she was fighting weeping angels and trying to keep the man she loved from dying, but sometimes, afterwards, she would start shivering, her teeth chattering and her limbs loose. The port helped. She still wasn't scared.

The Doctor was looking at her in a way she was familiar with—somewhere between pride and sympathy—but she thought it might have been the first time his features adopted this look. She felt a little warmer, looking at him. She put her hand on her jaw. Her teeth had almost stopped chattering.

It was then Amy came in, the tall, slim figure standing on one of the staircases, her hair loose around her face. River looked up, pleased to see her, pleased in a way she might not have been had anyone else interrupted her time with the Doctor.

“Amy,” she said warmly.

Then she realised something was wrong.

Amy was crying. She wasn't trying to hide her tears. She wasn't crying like an adult: she was crying like she was frightened, and crying like this was the only way she knew of making herself heard. It was the Doctor, not River, who ran to her, the Doctor, not River, who drew her into his arms. His face changed when he pulled her to him, but he didn't let go. He cupped the back of her head in one hand. He pressed her face to his neck. Her crying quietened, but did not stop.

“I'm sorry,” he said to her. “I'm sorry, Amy.”

“Amelia,” River heard her muffled voice say into her neck, and she was surprised.

The Doctor didn't seem to be. “I'm sorry, Amelia,” he said.

“What's wrong?” River said, coming up behind them on the stairs. This close, she could see that Amy's clothes were wet, and the pattern of wetness seemed to indicate... But it couldn't be... It was, River realised. Amy Pond had wet herself.

“I don't know,” the Doctor said, but River thought he was saying it like he perhaps had an inkling.

He drew away from Amy slightly, his hands on her arms, so he could look at her face. Nothing significant about it had changed, except perhaps her eyes were wider than before.

“Do you know who I am?” the Doctor asked.

Amy nodded. “Doctor,” she said.

“Do you know where we are?”

Amy raised her left hand, tracing her lips with her thumb. “TARDIS,” she said.

“Good,” the Doctor said. He took her right hand in his own. “Shall we get you in some more comfortable clothes, Amelia?”

Amy let herself be taken back up the stairs, the Doctor's hand on her arm. River stood there, holding her glass of port, not quite able to follow.

*

Hum. The gentle hum all around her. It was soothing. It had led her to the Doctor, the soft hum, and now he was holding her hand. She'd thought he might be cross. Her aunt would be cross. But he wasn't cross and his fingers were laced with hers, and she didn't feel like anything really bad could happen when he was here. She'd stopped crying. She'd tried not to cry. Everyone said it was silly to cry.

He took her down one long corridor, and then another. Her legs felt very cold. She put her thumb into her mouth. It felt nice in there, familiar, just the right shape. She sucked softly. “Bramble,” she said around it. “I miss Bramble.”

“Who's Bramble?” the Doctor said softly.

“My bear,” Amelia said.

“Your bear,” the Doctor repeated. “I don't think he's here. We could maybe find you someone else on this TARDIS. How would that be, eh?”

“Not the same,” Amelia said, but later, when he helped her out of her nightie and gave her some blue pyjamas to wear instead, it didn't seem like such a bad idea. They were in a wardrobe she'd never seen before, lined with silent shelves and boxes, and it seemed to go back too far and be too full of too many things. The Doctor took out a box, and inside was a rabbit with long ears and soft nose, and a blue knitted creature with big eyes she'd never seen before, and a yellow blanket, neatly folded, with silk around its edges.

Amelia remembered having a blanket just like that, and being told she was too big for it. She missed it, and snatched this one up at once, rubbing the silky corner over her cheek. She'd taken her thumb out of her mouth to put on the pyjamas, but now she put it back in again, and wrapped the blanket around her hand. It smelt soothing, though unfamiliar. A little like pine needles, and like cinnamon, and a little like the Doctor.

She didn't take the other toys out because they weren't Bramble, but the Doctor lifted them out and held them under one arm. He took her hand in the other. When he was leading her back through the corridors she realised she felt very sleepy.

There were stars on the ceiling of her bedroom. Familiar stars. Stars that had not been there before. The hum was gentle as a lullaby.

“Good girl,” the Doctor said, but she didn't think to her. She sucked her thumb while he took the wet sheets off her bed and ran the silky edge of the blanket between her fingers. She was beginning to feel safe.

The duvet cover was patterned with stars that matched the ceiling. Amelia didn't think it had been like that before, but she wasn't sure. She curled up under the duvet when the Doctor guided her towards the bed. He'd put the toys on her bedside table, the soft bunny and the funny blue creature.

“Are you leaving?” Amelia said around her thumb.

“You're very tired. Do you want me to stay?” the Doctor said.

Amelia nodded. She felt the bed sag where he sat down on it. She felt his warmth. She tucked the blanket under her chin and closed her eyes, the stars winking out of existence. The weight on the bed stayed constant. The Doctor was still here. She slept.

*

“I had to dress her,” the Doctor said.

He'd been a long time. River had checked all the atmospheric controls and sorted out the alignment of two levers and had another glass of port and was beginning to be genuinely worried about him. His voice was flat when he said it.

“What happened?” she said.

“I don't know,” the Doctor said, but River thought he did know. There was something about his face that told her knew precisely but couldn't bring himself to say.

“Is she...?” River paused, and then said the thing that distressed her the most. “She _wet_ herself.”

“I know,” the Doctor said. He paused. Went over to the TARDRIS controls and stroked them gently, rather like he himself was looking for reassurance.

“She's scared,” he said at last. “She's a brave girl, but she's scared. The angels were too much.”

“Oh,” River said. Then, “Have you seen anything like this before?”

He looked at her carefully. “Oh yes,” he said. “But not for a long time.”

She went over to him. He looked lost and she wanted to hug him, but he didn't know her yet, not really, and she didn't know what to say.

“I put her in my old pyjamas,” the Doctor said. “They're too big for her.”

“It wasn't you fault,” River said. She didn't know what she would say that would comfort him, but she thought she might try everything. Start by saying the obvious ones and end up with the ridiculous. _Banana. Crepuscular. Tesseract._

“It's always my fault,” the Doctor said.

*

 _Angels._

 _There's something in my eye. There's something in my eye. There's something in my eye._

She woke up. Too many sensations rushed at her at once. There was that constant hum. The feeling of a wet bed beneath her. Stars on the ceiling. Whole constellations.

Her name was Amy. Her name was Amelia. She remembered the previous night, and the night before. She reached out and found the yellow blanket. It wasn't wet. She was glad it wasn't wet. _Angels. Angels. Weeping._ She felt herself begin to shiver. _Something in her eye. Angels. Laughing._ Too much. She put her thumb back into her mouth. She'd missed sucking her thumb.

She stood up carefully. All the edges felt blurred. She was Amy. She wasn't Amy. The hum was gentle, like the sea on a calm day, like a duck pond on a village green. She was frightened because of the angels. She was frightened because she'd wet her bed and she might be in trouble.

She opened the door, and there was the Doctor. He was outside, like he had been waiting for her to let him in. She took the thumb out of her mouth, but kept the blanket squeezed to her chest. It was just the right size. She could cling to it easily.

“Amy?” the Doctor said gently.

“I don't know,” she said. She wanted to bury her face in his chest but she didn't quite dare. “I think I had an accident,” she said softly.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “It certainly looks like that,” he said. But his voice was gentle, and she trusted him at once. He didn't sound cross at all. She let him lead her to the bathroom next to her room, and gently disentangle her from the blanket. She wished he would stay, but he didn't, leaving with her alone with the shower and the taps, and though she was able to get the pyjamas off dealing with the shower felt too difficult. She stood looking at it for a long time. _Amy. Amelia. Angels._ Once she switched it on it felt too hot and she didn't know what to do with her hair. There seemed to be too much of it. She stood there and then she was too hot and she stepped out again and left it running. She found a towel and wrapped it around herself, and then she opened the door.

 _River._

“Beautiful River,” she heard herself saying, her throat too big for her voice.

River smiled. It was a familiar, knowing smile.

“The Doctor left you all on your own, did he?” River said. She sounded brisk, and a little anxious, Amelia thought. She wondered where her blanket was.

River went into the bathroom and switched off the shower. Once it was off she could hear the gentle, background hum more easily. River came out again and shut the door, and lead Amelia back to the bedroom. She noticed that her feet were wet. She could see wet foot prints following her from the bathroom.

“What clothes do you like to wear?” River said.

Amelia noticed that her bed was clean again, and her blanket was on it. Her special, yellow blanket. She picked it up and put her thumb in her mouth. _Should she suck her thumb when beautiful River was here?_ She wasn't sure where the question came from. She wanted to suck her thumb more than she wanted to pay attention to it.

River was looking at her, and then River was turning around and taking things out of her wardrobe. Funny little denim skirts, and tights and little black knickers, and a long-sleeved red t-shirt. River put them beside her on the bed.

“You're still all damp,” River said. She sat down on the bed next to Amelia, and began drying her shoulders with the towel. It felt a little bit like a hug. Amelia put her head down and rested it on River's shoulder. River kept drying her. Her hands were so gentle that most of Amelia remained slightly damp.

She took her thumb out put on the clothes herself. Knickers first. They felt funny, like they didn't quite cover enough of her. Then her t-shirt and then the little skirt. River helped her with the tights. She remembered someone pretending that tights were a monster eating up her leg, but she didn't know who that was.

“There,” River said softly. “You're dressed.” Her face was worried, Amelia thought. Amelia picked up her blanket and followed River out of her bedroom. The was warm, and the hum felt friendly. Her wet foot prints weren't on the floor any more.

The little kitchen seemed familiar. It was a comfortable kitchen, with a small wooden table and more chairs then they needed, and an old sofa in the corner. The Doctor was there. Amelia was glad. She wanted to give him a hug but she held on to her blanket instead.

He looked up at them and smiled.

“Do you like croissants, Miss Pond?” he said.

Amelia thought she did. The butter was too cold and the jam looked funny: it was the kind with bits in; but there was a jar of honey too. Her hands got all sticky reaching for it, and she felt frustrated because it didn't seem to go onto the croissant properly, but River helped. It was nice, all crunchy and sweet. The Doctor smiled at her and ate a piece himself.

Her blanket got a little sticky, but she didn't mind. River made her wash her hands. She thought it might be nice and cosy to sit under the table but at the same time she thought maybe it wasn't such a good idea. She felt like she might be a little bit big for the table. She and the Doctor sat on the sofa instead, and she curled up next to him. He didn't seem like he was going to hug her, but she decided to curl up next to him anyway, and he put his arms around her, and she snuggled down against his chest. She put her thumb back into her mouth. She felt better. The angels drifted at the edge of her mind. Amy drifted at the edge of her mind. She felt the Doctor tracing little circles on her back.

“We're worried about you, River and I,” the Doctor said to her softly.

“Oh.” She cuddled the blanket under her chin and took her thumb carefully out of her mouth.

“What's the last thing you remember?” the Doctor asked.

“Croissants and honey,” Amelia said.

“Hmm. What's the last thing you remember before you woke up last night?”

Amelia screwed up her face. _Amy. Amelia. Angels_. Angels. “I was scared,” she said.

She felt the Doctor draw in a breath. “Why were you scared?”

She burrowed her face into his chest. She could hear the strange pulse of a double heart beat. She wanted to tell him so he could tell her it wasn't real. “Angels,” she said against the fine weave of his shirt. “Angels in my eyes.”

She felt his arms tight around her. “How old are you?”

She fisted her hand in the yellow blanket. _Amy. Amelia._ “A grown-up,” she said. She could feel tears starting. She didn't know where they were coming from. It felt like too much. She tucked her thumb back into her mouth.

“OK,” the Doctor said. “All right. All right, Amelia. We'll look after you.”

She heard the squeak of a chair's legs on the floor. She felt the sofa dip next to her. River. “Yes, we will,” River said. Her voice was soft. The hum was soft in pitch, and all around her.

*

The kitchen was new to her. River had not been in it before, though she felt like she should know all angles of the TARDIS. Amy's room, too, felt new to her, though there was something familiar about the pattern of stars on the ceiling. The TARDIS herself must have put them there. River found the obvious support from the TARDIS rather comforting. Amy clung to the Doctor, and he brought her out to the observation room. He seemed to think the stars would soothe her, though River thought perhaps they would frighten her.

She moved quietly around the kitchen, putting away the plates and wiping the smears of honey off the table. The sofa was comfortable, and she sat back down on to it. She had not come from a time when sofas were very much part of her life, or even kitchens. Her childhood seemed to her to be outlined in bright white lines and steel.

Later she went out and found the Doctor and Amy sitting under the stars. Amy wasn't scared—in fact she looked more calm than River had seen her before, and the Doctor was telling her a story. His voice was so soft that River, standing a few steps away missed half the words.

She had seen this tenderness in him before, but it seemed now every time she saw him he became less tender towards her, and she was almost jealous of Amy sitting at his feet, receiving the quiet, ancient kindness. Then Amy looked over at her, a strange, lost look on her face, and her yellow blanket clasped to her chest, and River felt nothing but a rush of love for the girl, for the girl who seemed so impossibly far away from being the person River remembered.

River sat beside them, underneath the stars, and listened to the Doctor's voice. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he patted her hair gently, almost experimentally, and she felt herself relax.

*

She had another accident later that day. There'd been an achy, nagging feeling inside her for a little while, but she couldn't quite bring her attention to it. She'd been playing with the funny blue knitted creature, and then there was a rush of warmth between her legs, and the nagging feeling went away. Her skin was all wet and warm and she could see a puddle on the floor.

“Oh,” she said. River had been reading, and she looked up. She saw at once the problem.

“Oh, Amy,” she said.

Amelia popped her thumb anxiously into her mouth. “I made a mistake,” she said.

“I can see that, sweetie,” River said. “Let's get you cleaned up.”

They went back to Amy's room, where River found her a new skirt in the cupboard. It was a longer one, and had little pleats in it. This time she didn't give Amelia the too-small knickers to wear, but instead took a packet padded pull-up nappies out of the bottom drawer.

“The Doctor suggested we use these,” River said. “What do you think?”

She said it like she suspected Amelia was going to put up a fight, but actually she didn't mind at all. She put it on carefully under her skirt. It felt soft and a little bulky between her legs, but mostly OK. River gently smoothed out Amelia's skirt. She didn't give her any tights.

“Try to remember when you need to go, OK, sweetie?” River said.

Amelia carefully put her thumb in her mouth and picked her blanket off the bed. She nodded. “I'll remember,” she said.

Later, she went and found the Doctor and he told her a story about rabbits and witches and pine cones and let her settle with her head on his shoulder. Later still, he went and found her a box of colouring pencils and Amelia drew pictures of him and of River and of the stars. They were drifting through space now, entirely alone. It made Amelia feel very safe.

*

It was so strange to see Amy so pliant. River didn't think that was the same as the childishness that had overwhelmed her: children weren't plaint like that, except ones who were scared. Amy was quiet, and she sucked her thumb, and cuddled and stroked the blanket the Doctor had given her like a toddler, but she concentrated with adult determination on drawing, or on listening to stories, or on looking at the stars. It was then River felt like the Amy she had known was still inside, and there was something comforting about that. It was much more distressing to watch Amy have accidents, or so obediently put on the pull-ups the Doctor had suggested.

They were travelling quietly, outside of the time vortex, through the cold silent reaches of a galaxy unknown to River. The Doctor seemed to have no wish to land. She thought he had decided he could look after the vulnerable Amy more easily if they were floating in this vast nowhere.

River liked to watch his tenderness, listen the way he spoke to Amy about her drawings, the way he stroked the hair back from her face. The day stretched long around her, quiet but full of its own anxiety.

“Is she going to recover?” River said to him as she watched Amy hunched over the paper on the floor, her pull-up visible beneath her skirt.

“Amelia Pond?” he said. “Of course. She's recovering right now. She's giving herself what she needs.”

River thought about this. “How do you know?”

“I know,” he said in that infuriating way of his, and then Amy stood up, and came over, ponderous but not looking exactly unhappy, and settled down next to him. She dipped her head, touching her forehead against his shoulder.

“Did you draw something?” he asked her.

She nodded.

“Want to show me?”

She shook her head. She tucked her thumb into her mouth and rested her head under his chin. “Something in my eye,” she said, touching her face with her other hand.

River looked at her, her fingers splayed against the pale skin of her face, the thumb in her mouth. She remembered those words when Amy had said them the previous day. “There's nothing, sweetie,” she said. “I promise.”

*

The pull-up was wet again. This time the Doctor brought her to her bedroom and gave her a fresh one. He gave her pyjamas too, old stripped ones that were a bit too big for her. The bedroom seemed suddenly much too big, and the stars less soothing.

“I don't want to go to bed,” Amelia said. She didn't. Last night had been full of scary angels with strange sharp teeth, and waking up wet and alone.

“You're tired,” the Doctor said, nodding. “But you don't want to sleep alone.”

Amelia was pleased he understood. She gripped her blanket tightly in one arm and wrapped her other around the Doctor's neck. “Don't go,” she said. There was a rush of sound in her head, and even the hum didn't seem soothing. She remembered being left alone with an angel. She remembered the waiting.

“What will make you feel safe?” the Doctor said.

Amelia popped her thumb into her mouth. It felt familiar and soothing. It seemed to fit her mouth just perfectly. “You, and River,” she said.

The Doctor nodded. It was a thoughtful nod. He took her hand. He brought her back upstairs and he spoke to River for a little while. Amelia didn't listen to him. She stroked her blanket and wondered if the long-eared bunny she'd left alone in her bedroom would be sad.

They settled her between them in a double bed, in a room Amelia had never been in before. It felt much better. “You won't leave me alone?” she said.

“We won't,” River said. Amelia curled up on her side, with her head on the Doctor's shoulder, and River behind her, her hand on Amelia's hip.

“First time you've shared a bed like this with me?” River asked. Amelia's eyes were closed, but she wasn't asleep. She could hear what they were saying. She thought River sounded a bit sad.

“I'm sharing a bed with you and Amy,” the Doctor said. “And yes, it's the first time I've done that. Not sure what I'll do. Don't usually sleep as much as you lazy humans. Suppose I could get some reading done. Ever read any Hölderlin?”

“No,” River said. _Nope_ , Amelia said inside her head.

“Neither have I,” the Doctor said. “Met him once though. Interesting chap. Bit mad. Bit haunted too, which didn't help. We could visit him some time...”

Listening to them talk was very soothing. Amelia snuggled down and really did slip into sleep.

*

Amy woke up. Her thumb was in her mouth. She couldn't remember the last time she'd sucked her thumb, but she didn't feel like taking it out now. There was a warm body behind her, and her arms were wrapped around her blanket.

 _Her blanket_. She remembered. Angels. Pull-ups. Blankets. Being afraid to sleep. Angels. Eyes.

She opened her eyes carefully. She didn't take her thumb out. The Doctor was sitting up next to her. There was a little lamp on next to him and it cast his face in yellow light. He was reading a book in a language she couldn't name. She knew if she looked long enough the TARDIS would explain it to her, but she couldn't be bothered.

She looked up, into his face. His eyes met hers. She took her thumb out of her mouth.

“Doctor?” she said.

“Yes?” he said softly. She realised River was behind her, and snuffling softly in her sleep.

“I was frightened,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “How do you feel now?”

“I don't know,” Amy said. Suddenly she felt frightened again. She found herself squirming closer to the Doctor. He slid his arm around her. “I feel a bit more like me,” she said.

“I can see that,” the Doctor said. Watching her, she thought he liked rather tired, and rather old. It was not something she had ever seen in his face before.

She squeezed the blanket between her hands. “I don't know if I'm ready to...” She ducked her head. “I don't know if I can... be Amy yet.”

She was surprised by how gentle he was as he tugged her onto his chest, into his arms. She was surprised to feel him kiss her temple. “Take your time,” he said. He picked up the blanket and stroked a corner of it against her cheek. “Take your time.”


	2. Being Good

She wasn't sure if waking up or going to bed was the most difficult part. She didn't really like either of them. Waking up usually meant she was wet and her breath was coming too quickly in her throat, and her hands were trembling and she couldn't make them stop. She always slept next to the Doctor or River now, and that made getting to sleep a little easier, but she always dreaded the moment when she had to go to bed because it made her feel like the nightmares were building up behind her eyes and would soon overwhelm her.

This morning, she was alone in the room when she woke up. The bed was rumpled beside her, and she had fallen asleep next to the slim line of River's warm back. There were stars on the ceiling of this room too, spiralling above her, and the sounds the TARDIS made, gentle and constant. She closed her eyes, cocooned in the bed covers, and listened to that hum. It reminded her of when her aunt bought her a CD with sounds of the rainforest on it. It had been meant to help her sleep, because she'd had trouble with that even when she was little, but it had been too full of loud and unfamiliar noises. The TARDIS was just right.

Her blanket had fallen off the bed when she was sleeping, and she reached onto the floor and found it. Her pull-up stuck to her skin as she moved with a warmth that was now familiar. It told her she was wet, but she hadn't really expected to be dry. She curled the blanket it around her hand. It smelt like nutmeg and pine cones and that scent soothed her. She put her thumb into her mouth and rubbed the silky edge of her blankie between her fingers. Her heart had been racing since she woke up, her head full of the angel, the angel that had nearly escaped through her eyes, but now she was calming down.

She swung her feet onto the floor, tucking the blanket under her arm. She knew she should get dressed before she left the room, but she wanted to find the Doctor or River more than that. She didn't like being on her own. It reminded her too much of walking through the forest with her eyes shut, waiting to feel the angels' hands on her skin. She couldn't imagine what they would feel like. Not like stone.

The Doctor was in the main control room. The TADRIS led Amy there, along unfamiliar passages, but Amy trusted her to bring her to him. The TARDIS felt familiar to her, and she always trusted it.

“Hello!” the Doctor said to her cheerfully when she came in. She went carefully down the stairs to him, her nightie tickling her knees. She nuzzled his cheek gently with her nose.

He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her to him. “How are you?” he said. “Sleep well?”

“Mmm,” she said. “Angels.”

He put his hand on her forehead, like he was checking her temperature. Then he took it away and kissed her there, very softly. “Ah,” he said. “You should dream about something much nicer! A different planet! Would you like us to stop somewhere? We've been in space for ages.”

“Seven days,” Amy told him. She smiled. “I've been counting. I know you've been waiting for me to be better for a long time.”

The Doctor sat down on the steps, and drew her down with him. “You take as long as you need,” he said. Then he poked her in the shoulder. “Maybe you'd still like to go to a planet, though, eh?”

Amy curled her hands in her blanket. “What kind of planet?” she asked. She had begun to feel rather disgusted with herself for staying in the TARDIS so long when there was a whole universe to explore.

“What kind would you like?” the Doctor said.

Amy put her head on his shoulder. “Not a scary one?” she said.

“That hardly narrows it down at all!” he said. “There are plenty of ones that aren't scary. What would you like to do?”

“I don't know,” Amy said. She popped her thumb into her mouth to think about it, resting her index finger at the corner of her eye. Her pull-up was getting a little cold. She squirmed and cuddled closer to the Doctor. “What sorts are there?”

“What would you like? The seaside? A parade? A museum. You like museums.”   
_You_ like museums,” River said, coming in. Her hair was damp, and she was neatly dressed in black trousers and a red top. Amy looked at them admiringly. She wished she could dress as well as River.

“We're trying to decide what planet to visit,” the Doctor said. “What do you think?”

River looked surprised. Amy thought she looked like she didn't approve. “Are we ready for that?” she said.

“I think it might be nice,” the Doctor said. He stood up and went to look at the TARDIS console, and starting fiddling with the levers. River looked at him and sighed. Then she put her hand on Amy's head and stroked her hair.

“You're not dressed. Are you cold?” River asked.

“A bit,” Amy said honestly. She took her thumb out and stood up, folding the blanket over her arm. Lately she'd been feeling a bit embarrassed about using the blanket around River, but she wasn't sure why.

“Are you wet?” River asked softly, so only Amy could hear. Amy didn't mind the Doctor hearing, though.

“Yes,” she said.

River took her hand, the one that wasn't holding the blanket. Amy worried the thumb might be a bit damp. “Let's get you comfy, then. Did he even feed you?”

“She just came in!” the Doctor said. “Anyway, I thought we could get breakfast when we landed.”

“I think it's important she has a routine,” River said, and swept out of the room with Amy in her wake.

In the bedroom, River let Amy do most of the dressing herself. She helped with complicated things, like tights. She was still wearing pull-ups during the day, but the skirts mostly hid them. She looked at herself in the bedroom mirror. She looked the same as she ever had, except she was holding the blanket.

“I feel funny,” she told River.

“Funny?” River asked. “Why do you feel funny?”

It was hard to put into words. “I look the same,” Amy said. “But everything's so difficult.”

River nodded. She took Amy's hand. “I know, sweetie. The Doctor thinks it will get easier.”

“Yup,” Amy said. She cuddled the blanket to her chest.

The Doctor came in when she was eating breakfast. They'd given her fancy things like croissants for a couple of days, but now she was having coco-pops. The was fine. She preferred coco-pops. The Doctor and River were talking to one another about her, but Amy was pretending she couldn't hear them.

River was saying, “She's so vulnerable right now! I wouldn't feel comfortable letting her wander around on a planet,” and the Doctor was saying, “It's not healthy to keep her cooped up forever! Besides, it might help.”

Amy stirred the coco-pops until the milk was chocolate coloured and the cereal itself was starting to turn pale. Then she drank the milk straight from the bowl, trying to avoid the soggy coco-pop lumps. She got it on her chin and even on her neck. “Do you see?” River said to the Doctor, mopping her with a tissue.

“She's a little messy,” the Doctor said, “So what? We'll go somewhere very safe. Boring, even. We'll go to a park! Nothing bad ever happens in a park. We'll sit on a bench! We'll feed the ducks.”

In the end, that was what they did, although the ducks were pale violent and had very short beaks, and sang in small, tinkling voices when they were offered food. They didn't much like brown bread, but they did like cinnamon brioche, so that was something. Amy had brought her blanket. She hadn't meant to, but it hard turned out to be too difficult to leave it sitting at home.

The Doctor took his shoes off and went paddling in the water. The violet ducks swam around his feet.

“Doesn't he look silly?” Amy said to River.

“He does a bit, doesn't he?” River said.

“Didn't think you were supposed to go paddling in parks,” Amy said. She put her head in River's lap, and felt River smoothing her hair back from her face.

“Well, he doesn't follow rules, does he?” River said.

Amy stared up at the sky. It was as blue as any sky on earth, but the sunlight was paler. The sun itself seemed paler: Amy thought she could look at it, and it wouldn't hurt. She felt herself drifting. It was something that had been happening a lot lately. The sky, the colours of the world around her, her hands, all seemed too hard to hold on to, and she felt herself drifting through them like she wasn't part of them. When she started drifting, it wasn't long before she started to feel like the angels were around her, their faces next to her face, those clawed hands on her skin.

“Something in my eye,” she murmured. The Doctor was looking down at her. He'd rolled up his trousers but they'd still got wet in the pond, and they were dripping a bit.

“Don't worry, Pond,” he said. “There isn't anything in your eye.”

She squirmed. She could still feel the angels around her, still feel something hard in her eye. She closed them. Dark. Safe. It was better when she closed them. She brought her hand up and rested her palms over her eyes. She felt her eyelashes tickling them.

“You're safe,” she heard River say, and felt River's fingers carding through her hair. Safe? Was she safe? She felt trapped, surrounded, locked in.

“I don't like this,” she said. She sat up suddenly, River's hand snagging in her hair. It hurt, but she didn't say anything. She bit her lip instead and wrapped her arms around herself, trapping her blanket against her chest. River put her hand on her shoulder. Her fingers were cold, and Amy could feel them trembling slightly.

She met River's eyes. She had been feeling cloudy for so long: not quite real, and distant from herself. Suddenly she felt like she was seeing things with complete clarity, and she didn't like it. River looked kind, and thoughtful, and worried, and Amy knew she'd spent the last week burying her face in River's chest and hiding. Suddenly that seemed all wrong. She was an adult. This was not what she should be feeling, was it?

She brought her thumb to her lips and then took it away again. She noticed the blanket was sticky in one corner, and rather crumpled. She let go of it, letting it fall onto the grass. The Doctor was looking at her too, his head tilted slightly to one side. Anxiety was not plain on his face as it was on River's, but he did not look quite as insouciant as usual.

It was too much. Their concern was too much. She didn't know what to do with herself: how to move her limbs, how to get the angels out of her head, how to concentrate on the world around her. Their concern was too much to deal with as well as that.

“I'm going for a walk,” she said. She'd thought it would be hard to say, but the words came out easily.

“By yourself?” River said.

“Yes,” Amy said. “I'm an adult, aren't I?” She saw River stiffen. She wasn't sure if that was the right thing to say, so she said, “It's safe here, isn't it, Doctor?”

“Oh yes,” the Doctor said. He was squeezing the bottoms of his trousers experimentally. One of the ducks had followed him onto the bank and was looking up at him in a way that could only be described as adoringly.

“Well then,” Amy said. She stood up, not looking at River's face, not listening to the argument she knew was beginning between River and the Doctor. She started walking, and as soon as she started walking, she wanted to run, so she ran. She felt like she hadn't had any exercise in days. She was pleased with the feeling of her feet on the ground, with the rapidity of her stride, with the stretch in her limbs. She noticed the pull-up was chafing slightly at her thighs, but she decided not to think about its presence too much.

At first the running felt very good. She suddenly felt like she was safe. No one could catch her when she was running like this! The trapped, frightened feeling had left her. But soon the good feeling dwindled, and much too soon she began to feel anxious again, and rapidly she began to worry that if she did not run as fast as she could, she would be caught. She did not know by what.

First she began to pant, and then she reached the railings at the edge of the park. They were much taller than she was, and made of shining bronze. They were very attractive, but she found they frightened her. She was trapped by them. She began to run along their length, following them around the edge of the park. Then she was panting too much, and she slowed, wrapping her arms around her chest and feeling a dry ache in her throat. Her saliva was thick, and there was a taste like iron at the roof of her mouth.

 _There's nothing coming after me,_ a sensible part of her brain told her, but her body seemed intent on rapidly pumping adrenaline, and did not seem inclined to listen. Walking as quickly as she could soothed the panic a little. She began to think of the angels again, and their hands reaching out for her. She began to think of walking like she could see. And she remembered the last few days, lying in bed with River, sucking her thumb, wetting her pull-up, and she felt terribly ashamed. It was the shame, not the fear, that made her cry, and once she started, she found she couldn't stop.

Her nose ran, and the sobs stung her throat, but she couldn't stop, and the crying seemed to make everything worse, and she wanted someone there to comfort her, and she didn't want anyone to see her like this. She drew her hand to her lips, and nibbled on her wrist, on the soft flesh between her thumb and her fingers, and then slid her thumb into her mouth. She rested it there, without sucking it, crying around it. She wasn't sure if it helped at all.

Her eyes were shut, and her hair was in her face, and she wished not that she was somewhere else, but that she was _someone_ else, because she didn't think she could stand to be this person with these feeling any longer, and then she felt a cool hand on her forehead, and the rasp of a tissue being dabbed beneath her eyes. She knew at once who it was by the smell: vanilla and honey. She didn't open her eyes, didn't say anything, just pressed her face against River's neck, and wrapped an arm around her, and clung on.

“I've got you,” River was saying. “It's fine, it's good, you're good, it's OK.” She didn't say anything, but pressed as close to River as she could. “You had me worried,” River said, “Running off like that. I followed you. Good thing I did, isn't it, sweetie?”

Amy could only say _yes_ , first in her head, a fervent, unspoken _yes_ and then she said it aloud. “Yes, I'm glad. River. I'm glad.”

She felt River kiss her forehead. “Good.” River said. “Good girl.”

Amy was conscious of the saliva and snot on her face. She drew back from River, took a tissue and scrubbed herself properly, and blew her nose too loudly. She was surprised she could make such a honk. “I'm not,” she said softly. “A good girl. I'm not. I'm a mess.”

“You're not a mess,” River said.

“I am,” Amy said, tugging the hair out of her face. “Just look at me.”

“You might need a brush, sweetie,” River said. “But that doesn't mean you're a mess.”

Amy sighed. It was embarrassing to say, so she ducked her head, resting it on River's shoulder before she said it, “But I'm a grown up. An adult. I'm getting _married_. Why do I—even now—why do I just want my blankie?”

“Because it helps?” River suggested gently. She stroked Amy's hair. “You had a scary experience. A traumatic experience. You're coping with it the best way you can. The Doctor says that, and I agree with him.”

“But what if I...” Amy sighed. “What if I always want it? What if I never stop needing... needing these things?”

“We wouldn't mind,” River said. And then she ducked her head, her mouth tickling against Amy's ear. “It's cute,” she said. “Besides, you're hardly the only person who does.”

“Really?” Amy said, looking up.

“Really,” River said. She kissed Amy's forehead, and took her hand. “Come on, now. Let's go and find the Doctor. He's looking after that blanket for you.”

*

She was so tired when she got back to the TARDIS that everything felt like too much effort. She could barely stand up. The Doctor didn't seem to think it was strange at all. He took her hand, and then he took River's hand, and he brought them to the blue bedroom. River helped Amy into her nightie. Amy was still wearing her pull-up, but no one seemed to think that was strange. Amy didn't want to take it off. It was rather comforting, and besides, she hadn't woken up dry once since this had all begun. She decided not to think about that too much.

River guided her to the bed, and Amy settled down on her side in the centre of it. River lay down next to her, and Amy cuddled in against her. River gently stroked her neck, and smoothed her hair back from her face. The Doctor was watching them from the door way. He came over, then, and sat down on the bed, on top of the blankets. He was holding her yellow blankie, and he held it out to her. Amy took it, tucking it safely under her chin.

“Bad afternoon,” he said softly.

Amy nodded. She popped her thumb into her mouth.

“I meant for me!” the Doctor said. “The duck wouldn't stop following me! He was very angry. Wouldn't stop complaining that I'd broken park regulations. Very bureaucratic people, ducks. I need that blanket myself.”

Amy squeezed it close to her, and then unfolded it, and keeping one end for herself, offered the Doctor a corner. “I can share,” she said around her thumb.

“See, I told you you were a good girl,” River said from behind her, squeezing her even closer.

“You can keep it,” the Doctor said. He gave Amy back the other corner, wrapping it around her neck like a scarf. Then he said, “You're doing well. Fine. Better than me. You haven't got in any trouble with ducks.”

Amy laughed. River said something about the Doctor's record with bureaucracy, and Amy listened, their voices become less distinct as they soothed her to sleep.


	3. Probably No Jellyfish

Her mind was elsewhere, not in the kitchen, with the hum of the TARDIS and the familiar smell of cooking. Her mind was elsewhere, not even in her body, and then there was the seeping warmth in her crotch, and she knew she'd wet her pull-up. She looked over at the Doctor, wondering how to tell him. They thought she'd lost track of the days, but she hadn't. She wondered if perhaps _they_ had, and it was only she who knew how long they'd been in space (fifteen days) or how many boxes of coco-pops they'd got through (two) or how many times her blanket had got so sticky it needed to be washed (four) or how many nights she'd spent curled up in bed with River's warm arm anchoring her (twelve). River kept saying she needed routine and the Doctor kept saying she needed to have fun. Amy thought they could probably manage both, but the Doctor and River still argued about it.

They'd been to two different parks. In one, the Doctor had argued with some ducks and in the other he'd argued with some park-keepers. He'd said parks were too bureaucratic, and they'd not been back. They'd been to the seaside on a planet which had three suns and River said was too hot, but Amy quite liked, especially the feeling of the water around her toes. They'd been swimming, and seen a very scary red jellyfish which the Doctor said was beautiful and misunderstood, and Amy hadn't liked at all. They'd been to a zoo, even though the Doctor said he didn't approve of things in cages, and Amy had discovered that even animals she couldn't name could be very cute.

There'd been good days, when Amy felt like she was mostly holding things together, and perhaps she would be a normal grown-up again soon, one who didn't feel a bit anxious about leaving her bedroom without her special blanket. Then there'd been bad days, when she couldn't figure out anything she wanted to do, and she couldn't open her eyes without feeling the angel coming out of them, and she couldn't fall asleep, but she couldn't stand being awake either. Those were days when she wet her pull-up so many times she felt like she might as well give up on making it to the toilet on time.

They were both nice about it. Wetting her pull-up, that is, even though Amy felt like it must be the most disgusting thing a person could do, and she couldn't understand why they would be nice to her about it. She felt like she ought to be punished or at least told off, but instead they'd just take her to the bedroom, and clean her, and give her a fresh one to wear. She'd thought River had looked nervous about it at first, but now neither of them treated it like it was a big deal at all. That was good, but it also made Amy feel a bit funny. She worried she'd just get used to it and she'd never be able to stop wearing them.

There was something very comforting about the pull-ups. She remembered all the times she'd had accidents, from back to when she was a little girl and she'd been stuck in traffic with her aunt and she just hadn't been able to hold it any more, up to more recent times, like being locked out of her house after a long evening at the pub, or feeling too embarrassed to ask the Doctor where exactly you went for a wee in a bunker with Winston Churchill until she could only walk with an ungainly little hop and she'd had to bring it up. In pull-ups, you were safe from ever being stuck outside your house, groping uselessly for a key, with a dark strain growing rapidly across your crotch. There was something very soothing and cosy about them too. Lying in bed in a pull-up and sucking your thumb was about the safest you could feel, Amy thought, yet there was something very disgusting about them, which made liking them all the more shameful, but somehow she did, despite that.

She'd kept track of most things, such as the number of days she'd been like this, but other things were lost to her. She didn't know how many times she woke up in the night, but she knew it must be a lot because she was always so tired during the day that it turned into a blur. She didn't know how many times she'd panicked, or how many times she'd felt the imaginary stone hands on her skin, or, worse, her own fingers or her throat or her feet turning to silvery stone and becoming immobile.

“Fifteen days, eight hours and fifteen minutes,” Amy said to the Doctor. They were sitting in the kitchen. The Doctor had put some potato waffles in the toaster, although he seemed a bit suspicious about whether it really would cook them from frozen.

“What's that?” he said.

“Fifteen days, nine hours and fifteen minutes,” Amy said. “That's how long it's been. Give or take. Aren't you bored?”

“Bored?” the Doctor said. He was looking inside the toaster. Amy hoped he wouldn't lick it.

“Of looking after me,” Amy said.

“No,” said the Doctor. “Why do you say that?” He poked the toaster. “These waffles do seem to be sizzling.”

“That's because they're cooking,” Amy said. “I'm glad you're not bored.” She popped her thumb into her mouth for comfort. “Because I. Ah. Had an accident.”

“Did you?” the Doctor said. He was still examining the toaster. Amy wasn't sure he was listening.

“Yes,” Amy said. She fixed her eyes on the chip on the second drawer from the bottom. “I didn't mean to. I wasn't thinking. Then I was warm.”

The Doctor looked up. “Oh,” he said. He looked back at the waffles. “There won't explode, will they, if we leave them?”

“I doubt it,” said Amy.

“Good,” the Doctor said. He came over to her, and took her right hand in his, the one whose thumb wasn't currently occupied. He wrapped his fingers around hers warmly. “Come along then, Pond.”

She could do it herself mostly. You took off your tights if you were wearing them, or trousers, and then you stepped out of the pull-up, and then you took a wet wipe, and wiped yourself clean, and then you took a fresh pull-up out of the bag and tugged it on. They fit easily, warm and close against the skin. You looked at yourself in the mirror and told yourself to be more careful next time. She could do all that herself, but she'd rather someone came with her.

She'd still been wearing her nightie, but now she put on her denim skirt and a green checked shirt. It was from Marks and Spencers and was made from soft cotton that had got softer after she'd washed it a few times. Now it felt very comforting. When they got back to the kitchen the waffles had popped out of the toaster all by themselves, and they were cooked just right. A bit burnt and crunchy at the ends, and still soft in the middle. Amy found the tomato ketchup by herself in the fridge. She ate with her hands. The Doctor let her; River wouldn't have.

“Aren't you ever late for playing boules with Virginia Woolf?” Amy asked, licking ketchup off the corner of her mouth.

“Sometimes,” the Doctor said. “I played every game from the summer 1926 in a row about a year ago. Ate so many scones I felt sick and my trousers were covered in grass stains. You just don't have that kind of time with Iris Murdoch.”

“Don't you?” Amy said. She drank the last of her orange juice (it was the good kind: sweet without the pulpy bits) and then she got a piece of paper out of the drawer underneath the sink and some colouring pencils. On the TARDIS there were the good kind of colouring pencils that blended together when you shaded them on top of each other, unlike the bad ones whose colours just stayed separate and never mixed no matter how much you tried. She didn't really know what boules looked like (rolling balls on grass, she thought) or Virginia Woolf, but despite these limitations she thought she did quite a good job of illustrating Virginia Woolf playing boules with the Doctor.

She looked up to show him, but he wasn't there. She knew he got bored easily, so she wasn't really surprised, but she was still a little worried because often she got nervous when she was by herself. She put her drawing on the fridge, stuck there by a small magnetic Velásquez, and set off to look for him. When she was in the corridors, it was easier to hear the soft hum of the TARDIS. It was a soothing sound, and though it generally remained constant in pitch Amy thought she could hear differences in its tone as she moved around.

She followed it, down one corridor and along another, and she wasn't at all surprised when it lead her past the control room. The hum changed tone as she went inside, and she thought perhaps the TARDIS hadn't meant her to go straight in. The Doctor wasn't there, and she was disappointed. He was usually here. She meant to go and look for him but she went to the TARDIS console first, and looked at all the levers and buttons that she didn't know how to use, and then looked at the glass floor and all the things underneath that she absolutely wasn't supposed to touch, and she decided since no one was there to stop her she might as well go and have a look.

The Doctor's funny swing was underneath and she'd missed going on swings. She looped her blanket carefully around her neck so she could hold on with both hands, and she sat on seat. The swing didn't have very long ropes so it couldn't go very far, but she swung as much as she could back and forth, her bare feet tickled by the gears and controls beneath her. She thought if she swung hard enough she could touch the glass floor above her head with her toes. With one good hard kick she was almost there, but the second time she kicked behind there a crash. It was quite a loud crash, and she shut her eyes, frightened, and when she opened them again everything was dark. She gripped the swing as tightly as she could and kept still. She thought that the TARDIS was shuddering slightly. She'd drawn her feet in to her chest, but now she reached beneath her with her toe experimentally.

The floor was cool, and it was barely trembling. Amy stood up carefully. Now that her hands were free she popped her left thumb into her mouth and sucked it for comfort, and stroked the silky corner of the blanket between her fingers. It was still dark. There wasn't even the faint green light that came from the centre of the TARDIS when all other light was gone, though she could still hear that faint, comforting hum.

She turned to her left, groping for the stairs. She didn't like being in the dark. In the dark, you couldn't look for angels. You were never safe from angels, with your eyes open or shut. She wondered if you could hear them but she knew from experience they didn't make noise. She reached blindly in front of her, and whacked her head off something hard and metal. It hurt, and she whimpered, and stumbled forward again. This time her knee hit something hard, and it smarted terribly. She thought you weren't supposed to cry if you hurt yourself, but she felt a tear running down her cheek anyway.

Maybe she should just stop moving.

She heard a door open and close. It was dark, but she knew it was the Doctor. “Are you there, Pond? What have you done?”

Amy bit her lip. She wanted to run to him but she was afraid to move. Would he be very cross?

“I—I don't know,” she whispered.

“It's all right!” the Doctor was saying. “I think you just tripped a switch!”

She felt him brush past her, his warmth, and his smell. Pine needles. Toast. The smell of dust after rain. It seemed that he could see much more clearly than she could. She heard a bang and a clank, and suddenly it was bright again, the centre of the TARDIS humming in it familiar light.

Amy blinked.

“Oh,” she said.

“Yes,” the Doctor said. He looked over at her. He didn't even really look cross, even thought Amy thought he probably should. Then he said, “What have you done to yourself?”

Amy's knee was grazed where she'd banged it, and there were tears on her cheeks. The Doctor came over and dabbed at her face with his sleeve, and patted her knee vaguely, which made it sting. Amy squirmed and then wrapped her arms around him, burrowing her face into his neck.

“Are you cross?” she said.

“No,” he said.

“But I was bad,” Amy said.

“Bad's relative. You tripped a switch. You shouldn't come down here by yourself. It was silly,” the Doctor said.

“I know,” Amy said. She nuzzled his neck with her nose.

“Tell you something, though,” the Doctor said.

“What?”

“I would,” he said. Amy raised her head. He winked at her. He took her blanket out of her hand and patted her cheek with it gently. Amy smiled, surprised and pleased.

Then she asked, “Does the TARDIS really have switches you can trip?”

“Well, not really. But imagine a giant fuse box, covering all of time and space.”

“Yes?” she prompted.

“Well, it's nothing like that,” the Doctor said.

“Then what's it like?” Amy said.

“Very complicated,” the Doctor said. “Come on.”

They went back up the stairs and down one of the corridors. The Doctor was holding her hand in his larger one. Amy felt a little less anxious. Her knee had even stopped hurting, though a trickle of blood had run down from her knee to her ankle.

River turned a corner so swiftly she almost bumped into them, and then she stopped.

“What have you been doing?” she asked. “I thought I felt the TARDIS shuddering. That's never a good sign.” And then she paused, and looked over at Amy. “What happened to you?” she asked.

She was still in her night things and she looked rather flushed. “Don't be cross,” Amy said.

“I'm not cross,” River said. “What happened?”

“Amy bumped into one of the controls. She's fine. Everything's fine,” the Doctor said.

River looked at both of them. She put her hand against her cheek like she was checking to see if it was still there. “What's wrong with your leg, sweetie?” she said to Amy.

“Bumped it,” Amy said. She ducked her head and popped her thumb back into her mouth.

River looked at the Doctor questioningly.

“She bumped it,” the Doctor said.

“And the TARDIS?” River said.

Amy let go of the Doctor's hand, and scurried around River. They were talking to each other in that way they had, that was a bit like arguing and a bit like something else. Amy had known the name for it once, but it was the sort of thing she found hard to keep in her head these days. She knew that once they got like this they'd stop noticing her.

She wandered down one corridor, and then another. She couldn't hear the Doctor's or River's voice any more. The TARDIS was humming soothingly. She hoped she'd been forgiven for what had happened earlier.

“Sorry, TARDIS,” she said softly, stroking one of the walls with her right hand.

She turned left again, and then there was a door in front of her. The inside of the TARDIS often seemed to involve a lot of corridors without any doors at all, so it was nice to find one. She sort of hoped the swimming pool would be behind it. Swimming might be fun, and there probably weren't any jellyfish in the TARDIS pool.

It was a small, warm room with yellow walls and a little yellow rug on the floor. The ceiling was very high, and through a window in it she could see the real stars. One wall had a bookcase on it, and there was a beanbag in one corner. It looked like a room Amy had known before, but she couldn't remember where it had come from.

She looked up at the stars for a little while. The room was comfortingly small. She didn't think an angel could ever fit in here. Then she had a look at the books. Some of them were ones she was familiar with, and some of them were new. She took one off the shelf called _The Little White Horse_ and sat down on the beanbag to look at it. She curled up onto her side, cushioned by the beanbag, and slid her thumb into her mouth. She held the book in her other hand, her blanket folded against her chest.

She'd had a bad night. There'd been bad dreams and waking up all shaky and afraid, and lying on her back and staring at the ceiling and wishing she were someone else. The book was soothing. The room was warm and the TARDIS hummed reassuringly. Pretty soon she was asleep.

She woke with her heart thumping. In her dream she'd been running from something. Something big and scary. Not an angel though. At least it hadn't been an angel. She squirmed, realising she really needed a wee. It was often hard to open her eyes after being asleep because she was scared of the angel escaping through them, but she sat up quickly this time, and squeezed her hand between her legs to hold it in better.

She stood up and looked at the door. She told herself there definitely wasn't anything scary on the other side of the door. She was on the TARDIS and nothing bad could happen to her here. She told it to herself twice, bobbing up and down urgently. She would go out and she would run... Where? She didn't have any idea where the nearest loo was, and on the TARDIS you could wander around for ages without finding one.

She could just stay here.

It was a bit of a naughty thought. She knew she was supposed to try and use the toilet if she could possibly help it. But if she went off looking for one, she'd probably end up having an accident before she found one anyway, and it felt much safer just to say here.

It was practically an accident anyway. She _really_ had to go.

She stood up a little straighter and rubbed her blanket comfortingly against her cheek. She started weeing almost as soon as she gave up trying to hold it in. She felt its heat in the pull-up. The pull-up swelled and felt surprisingly dry despite all the wetness it soaked up. It was mostly just warm against her skin, and she felt much more comfortable. She knew it would start feeling cold eventually, but right now it felt fine. There was something quite comforting about knowing it was there.

She settled back down on the beanbag comfortably and sucked her thumb. She looked up at the stars moving above them for a little while, and then she took out her book and started reading. It started off a little slow, but it turned out to be quite an interesting book, and she got absorbed in the story. She didn't really know how long she'd been in the little room.

After a little while, she started looking at the door occasionally and hoping someone would come and find her. She thought there probably wasn't an angel on the other side of the door, but she still felt anxious about it. She'd rather someone else opened it. Besides, she was getting hungry. Didn't they care that she'd wandered off?

“I've never been here before,” the Doctor said, when he found her at last. “I think the TARDIS might have decided to make it herself.”

He looked up at the skylight. “Do you like it?” he asked.

“Yes,” Amy said. “Lots.”

The Doctor tapped the bookcase carefully, and looked underneath the rug. He didn't seem to much mind that she'd been all by herself for so long.

“I'm hungry,” Amy said.

“Me too!” the Doctor said. “It's been lunch time for hours. And River's worried about you!”

He took her hand to pull her up from the beanbag, and she wrapped her arms around him. He felt warm and familiar. He patted her back gently, and let her go.

“Found her!” he called as soon as they left the room. River appeared around a corner after a moment. She looked much more worried than the Doctor. Amy wondered if she was cross. In her experience, worried people were often cross.

Amy hurried over and gave River a hug in the hope that it would distract her. River hugged her back and ran a hand through Amy's hair.

“You're a mess,” River said.

“Sorry,” said Amy.

“I'll have to brush you hair later,” River said. She said it very gently, and her arms were warm and protective around Amy. Amy felt much better.

They went to get lunch first. Amy and River curled up together on the sofa, and River told the Doctor what he should make (ham and salad sandwiches) and what she would like to drink (coffee). Amy sipped the coffee when the Doctor gave it to River, but it burnt her lips and tasted bitter. She had orange juice instead. She ate the sandwiches too, even though she'd asked for more waffles. River said she couldn't have waffles twice in one day.

Afterwards, the Doctor washed up the lunch things and the breakfast ones at the sink. He splashed around noisily and got water on the floor and suds in his hair. Washing-up did not seems to be his strong point. River got up to help him. Amy curled up in the corner of the sofa, rubbing her blanket over her nose, and listened to them splashing around.

It reminded her of being in the sea with the big jellyfish, and splashing in the rock pools. She remembered the coldness of the water in them, and the little red anemones that clung to the rock and wriggled their little tentacles. If you put your finger in them, they would hold on for a second and then they would let go when they realised you were too big to eat.

She imagined the swirling light in the water, the long tendrils of seaweed, the taste of salt in her mouth. She imagined sailing ships, swords, and pirates. She imagined albatrosses, clouds, and wings. She was drifting among them. Wings. She imagined angels, with fierce fingernails and strange teeth. She imagined hands coming out of her eyes, huge stone hands working their way out of her.

She curled up on the sofa, and she floated in the sky, with the stones.

She floated. She realised the water wasn't splashing in the sink any more. That it had gurgled as it had drained, and that now it was empty and the watery sounds were only the ones inside her head. River was kneeling in front of her. Her hand was on Amy's forehead, warm from the sink, but soft and familiar.

“Were you dreaming?” River said.

“Awake dreaming,” Amy replied. “I was awake, but I was dreaming.”

“You had a little accident,” River said. “Will you stand up?”

She'd already wet this pull-up, and it hadn't been able to cope with her wetting it again. A long trickle of urine had run down her leg, and she could feel a damp spot on her skirt.

“Oh,” she said. She ducked her head, embarrassed. River helped her stand up.

The shower had green tiles and ferns on the windowsill, and Amy pretended she was in jungle, and there was a panther pacing somewhere outside the curtain. She wasn't afraid of panthers, just of angels and jellyfish, and she liked to think of its long tail swishing past. River hadn't been cross about the wet skirt. She'd just stuffed it in a laundry bag. Amy imagined floating across the surface of a lake.

Later, she and River looked for the little room Amy had found, but Amy couldn't find it anywhere. But she knew that in the TARDIS things could disappear as easily as they could appear.

Later still, the Doctor landed the TARDIS, and they went outside. Outside, it was evening, which it had been inside too. The sky was pink at the edges, and the air smelt like dew and ice cream. It was warm out.

“Is this earth?” River said.

“Munich. Germany. 1999. They have the best swings just around the corner.”

Amy decided not to wait for him. She ran along the path, through the trees, and over a low bridge across a narrow river. And then there was an open space, two teenagers on a see saw, and the cheerful noise of distant people talking to each other. And there were swings. Proper tall ones, with long ropes that fitted easily into your hands.

It really was a lot like flying.


End file.
